The Whinings of Women
by Radioactive Ferret
Summary: When Wendy and Bebe finally drive Stan and Kyle nuts, they discuss their options over beer and Cheesy Poofs, and their solution turns out to be more than they expected. KyleXStan, Kyle's POV, COMPLETE
1. Ideas

Author's Note: Well, what do we have here? Ah, it looks like the cat's been shitting on the carpet again. Well, it's decent, I guess... I'm clearly procrastinating on something; that's the only time I write South Park slash. Problem is... I don't know what I'm procrastinating on! Well, enjoy!

* * *

I learned many important things in third grade, but the _most_ important thing I learned wasn't taught to me by Mr. Garrison. Well, actually, I take that back. In class, he would always randomly drop life lessons on us that he'd pulled out of his ass. Sometimes they were just pointless. For instance, I can officially name all of Jennifer Aniston's boyfriends to date and tell you exactly how long they were dating (in days) and why they broke up. This includes the people her characters dated on TV and in the movies.

But sometimes his random comments on everything we weren't studying proved useful. Like the comment he made about women; "I just don't trust anything that bleeds for seven days and doesn't die." Wendy wasn't too pleased with that statement, which leads me to my point: The most important thing I learned in third grade was taught to me by Wendy, of all people. And what was that lesson, one may ask? Simple.

Don't fuck with a woman.

That's it. Don't do it. Fuck with them, and you'll be _lucky_ to wind up in the ER with your testicles in a jar. Luckily, I haven't learned that lesson through personal experience. Ms. Ellen wasn't as lucky, though. Wendy made an example of her for all guys who would ever think of leaving their girlfriends the moment something better came along, and for all girls who had the remote idea of going within a 10-mile radius of Stan.

Kenny and I could tell they would be a dramatic couple immediately after Wendy dumped him for the first time. In middle school, they must've broken up at least 50 times in sixth grade, 45 in seventh, and a record of 66 in eighth. Not that I was counting or anything, of course.

I got stuck dating Bebe in seventh grade after her friends screamed at me all through lunch for "leading her on and breaking her heart, you bastard!" If being best friends with a girl's best friend's boyfriend is leading someone on, I'm guilty. But is it honestly _my_ fault that my best friend was dating Wendy? Right, I didn't think so.

Kenny and Cartman had it easy. Kenny was the one-night-stand type (yes, even in sixth grade), and girls seemed to understand that. But did they ever make it easy for _me_? Uh, let's think. No! I had to play third wheel with Stan and Wendy on the day I broke up with Bebe for the first time. I thought the girls would jump me after school and try to claw my eyes out with those stupid fake fingernails of theirs. Boy, Stan got a laugh out of that one. I must've looked pretty pathetic, though, because Wendy, bless her soul, promised to tell the girls to leave me alone.

Long story short, they left me alone for about a month. Bebe would always start crying whenever she saw me, and was quickly surrounded by a group of her girlfriends who would hug her and pat her shoulder and other girly things. Whenever this happened, I high-tailed it out of whatever room I was in. Wendy said she'd talk to them, and whatever she did saved my ass, but I didn't think it wise to tempt fate. I could practically feel their eyes burning into me whenever Bebe turned on the waterworks. We ended up dating again at the end of eighth grade, and I only avoided seeing her over the summer by claiming to be in summer school.

Cartman didn't have any girlfriends that I know of. Probably because he just never grew up until he hit freshman year, and even then I thought he belonged in fifth grade. Not to say he was stupid… well, actually, I'm not sure how smart he was. He mastered the art of plagiarism very quickly and has yet to be caught, so that could point in either direction.

By the time we were juniors, I was honestly ready to kill Bebe. When I broke up with her, she pulled the same tearful shit from middle school until I agreed to date her again. It just kept going on and on and on, until I had to hide out at Stan's house for the weekend. She wouldn't stop calling, and whenever I asked my mom to say that I wasn't home, she would shout at me to get my ass downstairs. She found the whole relationship "adorable".

It turned out that Stan's relationship with Wendy wasn't any better. "Dude, if you want to punch me or something for the way I acted when Wendy first dumped me, go right ahead," was the first thing he said after I knocked on the door.

"Uh, no. What brought that up?"

Stan sighed as he invited me in and plopped down on the couch. "Wendy, what else?" he said sullenly. Sensing a kindred spirit, I sat next to him and tossed my bag on the floor. "She's so… clingy. I was talking to what's-her-face the other day... you know, that blonde chick who sits behind me in Physics? The one who tried to boycott Cheesy Poofs last year?"

"Melanie?" I offered.

"Yeah, her. I was asking her if we had any homework in our next class, and Wendy got all jealous and shit."

I arched an eyebrow as I kicked my feet onto Stan's lap. "How so?"

He shoved my feet off and whacked me with a pillow. "I'm not your footrest, jackass," he said with a small smile.

"Yeah, yeah."

"But anyways," he continued. "She wouldn't even look at me, so I asked her what was wrong, and she ran off in tears. A bit later, that one chick—I don't remember her name—slapped me and said Wendy would break up with me if I was going to hit on other girls like that."

"Dude! Wha'd you do?" I laughed.

Stan winced. "Not the smartest thing. She went to slap me again, so I grabbed her wrist and said that if she did that again, I'd slap her right back..." He grinned feebly. "...to which she replied 'go fuck yourself' and kicked me in the nuts. Oh, shut up, asshole! It's not that funny!" He added the last part once he saw me rolling on the floor, laughing my ass off.

He tried to kick me a few times and managed to get me on the last try. I stopped laughing abruptly; not because of the pain (it _did_ hurt—I thought the bastard broke a few of my ribs), but because he knocked all the air out of my lungs. "Alright, alright, I'm sorry," I gasped finally, climbing back onto the sofa.

"Yeah... so..." he said after a few minutes. "What brings you here?"

"Bebe."

"Ah." Stan nodded. "Is she still holding you hostage?"

"Not exactly," I said slowly. "For once, _she_ dumped _me_, but now she's pissed that I'm not upset."

Stan tossed a pillow in my general direction, meaning that if I had been standing about 20 feet to the left, I _might_ have been hit. "Dude, seriously, just tell her that you don't like her."

"I already did that, and I've _been_ doing that since seventh grade!" I exclaimed finally, pulling the last couch pillow over my face. "She just starts crying, and all her friends threaten to get their boyfriends to kick my ass if I don't get back together with her!"

I couldn't see anything, but I just knew Stan was grinning like a maniac. "Look, just stay here. I'll be back with some snacks... and a couple beers, if I can find any."

"Stan, you are God," I said through the pillow.

"Yeah, that's what your mom called me last night," came the reply. My pillow caught him square in the face, causing him to stumble and fall onto the trash can. "Hey, I'm just kidding!"

"Yeah, I know," I sighed. Stan finally emerged from the kitchen with two of his dad's beers and a bag of Cheesy Poofs. "I don't get it, dude. Why're Wendy and Bebe such bitches to us?"

"Wendy's actually not that bad," replied Stan, tossing me one of the beers. "I think she's just PMSing."

"Lucky," I muttered, taking a gulp of beer. "Bebe acts like she's surgically attached to me."

Stan chewed on a mouthful of Cheesy Poofs for a minute then asked, "Have you slept with her?"

I choked and, after a brief coughing fit, glared at him. "No!" I exclaimed, blushing. "Why would you think that?" That was the _last_ question I was expecting.

"Well, it was just an idea, but if you slept with her, that would've explained why she's so obsessed with you."

I drained the rest of my beer and dropped the can on the floor. "What do I do, dude? I know she's gonna want to get back together on Monday! If I turn her down, it's that same shit all over again!"

Stan frowned; not the way he did when he was angry, but the way he did when he was deep in thought. "What if you date someone else?"

"No way that'll work, man. She's friends with every girl I know."

Stan shifted uncomfortably. "Well..." he began quietly. "You don't, um, you know... have to date a girl..."

My eyes widened as I took in what he was saying. "You mean... I pretend to be gay?" I shook my head. "Who'd do that?"

"Look, I know it's a bit weird, but—"

"No, that's not what I meant. I mean, who'd help me do that? Cartman's gonna have a field day with this, and Kenny... Bebe'll be all over me again once he gets gunned down."

"I'll do it."

My mouth went dry, probably because it was hanging open for awhile. "You…?" I asked slowly, feeling my heart race. "I... well... What about Wendy?"

He blushed as he popped the tab of his beer can and finished it in a few swallows. "Dude, we've been best friends since, what? Preschool? That's gotta count for something. Besides," His face was entirely flooded with red when he added in a whisper, "I like you a lot more than her, anyways."

I practically felt my jaw hit the floor. "Waitwaitwaitwait! Are you saying that you're... y'know... gay?"

"No, not exactly. It's just... oh God, nevermind. I dunno why I said that. Sorry." He tossed his empty beer can next to mine, then pulled his hat down over his eyes and rested his forehead on his knees.

"Was that your first beer?" I asked suspiciously.

"Third." His voice was slightly muffled as he spoke. "Sorry," he said again.

I wasn't sure what to do at this point, so I put my arm around his shoulder. "You okay, dude?" The result was immediate. His back stiffened, and he pulled away as if he'd been zapped with a tazer. "Stan? What's up?"

"I can't believe I just said that," he muttered. "I must be losing my mind." Or his wits, I guessed, glancing at the beer cans on the floor. Then an idea hit me.

"Here, I'll grab us a couple more beers, okay?" I suggested, walking into the kitchen and opening the fridge. There were about four twelve-packs in there, a sure sign that the Super Bowl party was going to be at Stan's house. I grabbed a few cans from a pre-opened box and brought them out to Stan.

"Thanks," he muttered, opening another can. "Look, can we just forget what I said?" I watched as he took another deep swig of beer, the muscles in his throat moving as he swallowed. Once the can was empty, he glanced at me. "Alright?"

"I don't see what the big deal is," I replied, replacing his empty can with my full one. I felt kinda guilty about tricking my friend when he was drunk, but it wasn't like I was going to do anything to hurt or humiliate him. No; that was Cartman's job. "It was a pretty good idea, y'know. Bebe couldn't get offended if she thought I was gay."

"That's not what I meant," he whispered, glaring at his beer can. "I meant the part where I said I like you."

"Do you?" I asked softly. I knew there was no way he'd say any of this while sober, so either he was too drunk and didn't know what he was saying, or he was just saying the first things that came to his head—things he didn't want me to know.

Okay, I know that this was totally betraying our friendship, or something like that, but you know what they say: Curiosity killed the cat.

Stan didn't reply. Not in words, anyways. Before I could move, I felt his lips pressed clumsily against mine and his arms twining themselves around my waist. "Stan?" I pulled back slightly. "Dude, I think you're drunk."

He rested his cheek on my shoulder for a moment, then sat up. He didn't say anything at first, but then he nodded slowly. "Kyle?" he said softly.

"Y-yeah?"

He blinked heavily for a few moments. "I think I'm gonna puke."

"Guh!" I jumped up just in time.


	2. Lies?

Author's note: Well, I wasn't originally going to do this, but since almost everyone wanted me to continue, I guess I'll give the dead donkey a few more whacks. I'm still procrastinating, and I still love writing from Kyle's POV, so I guess it's all good.

* * *

Where to begin? Let's see, last night, I tried to drown my troubles in Cheesy Poofs and beer, and now I'm necking with my new boyfriend in the janitor's closet.

Okay, maybe I should back up a bit. There seems to be a gap of information there. I'll back up to after Stan passed out. That'll probably make more sense.

It was about 10:30 when Stan's parents got home. I had already called my mom and told her Stan and I would be studying late, so I would just be staying the night at his place. Which seemed like the morally right thing to do, of course. I had, after all, gotten Stan drunk to get him to tell me things he would never have told me while sober, so leaving him to drown in a pool of his own vomit seemed a bit cruel.

"Oh HO!" laughed Stan's dad the minute he walked in the door. "SOMEone's a lightweight!"

"He had five cans of beer, Mr. Marsh," I said monotonously. "I only had two."

"Nonsense!" he laughed. "I can drink an entire twelve-pack and still drive home!"

I rolled my eyes. That would explain why this nutjob had more DUI's than anyone else in South Park. "Um, just out of curiosity..." I began. "How is it that you haven't been locked up for three years? How do you even have a license?"

"He doesn't have one," said Stan's mom, glaring at her (obviously drunk) husband. "He drew a moustache on mine. Now both of you go to bed. And if either of you puke on the rug, you're responsible for cleaning it up."

I nodded, then nudged Stan with the toe of my shoe. "Hey, dude, wake up!" Stan mumbled and rolled over on the floor. "Stan!" Mutter-snort. "Stan, goddamnit, get up!" He finally sat up, looking like he'd fell asleep in a dishwasher, rubbing his eyes and mumbling under his breath. "Wha'd you say?" I asked, unable to process the word 'mmdfgghhmnnrss'.

"I said, 'what time is it?'" he said, slowly getting to his feet.

"Late," I replied. "And you can't sleep on the carpet."

Stan smirked. "You woke me up to tell me it's time to go to bed? Smart, Kyle."

"Says the guy who chugged five beers in an hour."

He shrugged. "Whatever. I'm going to bed."

Nothing else interesting happened that night, unless you count the incident where Stan kicked me in the nuts in his sleep. I stayed up most of the night, thinking over what Stan had said. I had to admit, pretending to be gay could potentially solve a lot of problems. Bebe would leave me alone, Wendy would leave Stan alone, and that would be the end of that.

The only problem was, what if I actually found a chick I liked later on? She would think I was gay! But surprisingly, I wasn't too worried. I have yet to find a chick I actually like and, now that I think about it, I honestly can't see why Cartman hasn't called me gay already. Bebe is the only girlfriend I've ever had, and he knows I hate her. I've only kissed her once, I've never shown interest in anyone else, and I spend all my time with three guys. One being an annoying, dumb fatass that needs to grow up.

God, what am I saying? I'm making myself sound really gay! Okay, anyways, back to the events of today. Stan's alarm went off at exactly 6:42, as it always did. I usually set mine a bit earlier, but since his house is closer to the bus stop, I really don't mind. One thing I really envy about Stan is his ability to get drunk off his ass and fail to get a horrible hangover. I was still groggy when I woke up, and it was only made worse as I watched Stan bounce off the walls like the damn Energizer bunny, digging through his room for something clean to wear.

"Dude, seriously, where's the meth and why aren't you sharing it with me?" I groaned, pulling his pillow over my face. "I really hate you in the morning."

"Love you too, dude," Stan said sarcastically. "Speaking of which, are we still going through with this?"

My heart sped up. If he remembered last night's events, this could be very awkward. "With what?" I asked.

"Pretending to be gay," he said, rolling his eyes. "I can't remember what you said. I was a bit shit-faced last night."

Whew. Dodged the bullet.

I shrugged. "Why not? But you know this will ruin our reputations with all the chicks at school for the rest of the year, don't you?"

"So what? I don't like any of them anyways. They're all the same—clingy, whiny, needy, bitchy... Why? Was there one you liked?" He glanced back at me as he finally found a shirt that didn't smell like the mealworm tank.

"Not... exactly. Cartman's gonna piss himself when he finds out, though," I sighed, tugging my hat over my eyes. "Probably shit himself, too."

"Good," said Stan bluntly. "I'll record it and we can post it on YouTube."

I finally laughed. "Alright, you got me. I'll do it." He laughed too, then tossed me a pair of jeans. "Here, wear these."

I arched an eyebrow. "Uh, why?"

"Because your pants smell like beer-barf, idiot," he laughed. "Hurry up or we'll miss the bus."

We didn't miss the bus, but I honestly wish we had. There were two pairs of pants in Stan's room that didn't smell like decomp. One pair was the pair he was wearing. The other pair, the one he gave me, was from two years ago and was uncomfortably tight. Kenny, damn him, was the first to notice.

"Dude, what the _fuck_ are you wearing?" he laughed. I wish the dumbass was still wearing his stupid parka. Ever since he switched to hoodies, it's been like a gassy guy removing the kazoo from his asshole. Only those fluent in hood-speak could understand the stuff that came out of Kenny's mouth, which is probably why he didn't get expelled from elementary school. But now, everyone and their poodle could understand him, so if he said something embarrassing to us, it was now made ten times worse.

"Stan barfed all over my pants last night, and these were the only ones that didn't smell like your house," I retorted.

Kenny ignored the blatant insult. "Are those his sister's?"

"Dude, no!" exclaimed Stan. "Shelly's too fucking fat! Her tightest pair _might_ fit Cartman."

"Hey! I'm not fat, you buttfucker!"

I shook my head. "Cartman, you're 5'7", you weigh over 250 pounds, you haven't eaten a healthy meal in your life, and the only exercise you get is when you walk to the crapper to take a dump. You're fat."

"Shut up, you fucking Jew!" he shouted. "At least I'm not pussy-whipped by some dumb blonde bimbo!"

Stan and I exchanged nervous glances. "You tell them," he said quickly.

"Hell no, dude! This was _your_ idea! _You_ tell them!"

Kenny and Cartman blinked. "Tell us what?" asked Kenny. "Did you guys murder Bebe?"

"No, I—"

"It's about fucking time, Kyle! God, I was afraid she was gonna land you in the loony bin or something!"

"Kenny—"

"—good thing, at least someone else around here died! I'll be sure to say hi to her in hell today—"

"Kenny!"

"—and here I thought you were—Huh?"

I rolled my eyes. "I didn't kill Bebe, you idiot," I said, thumping him on the head.

"Oh..." he said, looking slightly put out. "Well, then what's the big news?"

"Um..." I glanced at Stan for help. "Well, you see..."

"Okay, here's what we're doing," he said finally. "Wendy and Bebe cannot take a hint. So we've decided we're gonna pretend to be gay so they'll—OH MY GOD, SHUT _UP_, FATASS!!"

I knew it. I knew it. I so fucking _knew_ it. It was just as I had imagined it. Cartman was rolling on the ground like a four-year-old, slapping his thighs with one hand and wiping his tears away with the other. "Faggots!!" he screeched. "I shoulda guessed!!"

"What part of 'pretending' don't you understand, douchbag?" I shouted. "And you're really one to call _us_ fags, you know! Most of the girls think you and Butters are an item."

Kenny rested his hand on my shoulder. "Dude, we aren't calling you guys fags," he said reassuringly.

"You aren't?" Stan and I asked simultaneously.

"No. We're just saying that you two make the Tower of Pisa look straight!" He joined Cartman in his throes of laughter.

"Bastard," growled Stan. "Look, just ignore them. It'll actually help if they act like we really _are _gay."

We were saved by the arrival of the bus. I never thought I'd be glad to hear Miss Crabtree's screeching voice telling us to shut the fuck up, but I was. "Oh, shit, dude!" I whispered. "There's Bebe!"

"Don't freak out, dude. Just ignore her," Stan mumbled. "C'mon, we can grab that seat over there."

Alas, has Bebe ever been one to take a hint? Scroll up nine paragraphs for your answer. Got it? Okay, good. So I had just sat down when Bebe grabbed a seat in the aisle next to me. I shoulda picked the window.

"Kyle, we need to talk," she said gently. "Can you meet me at lunch today?"

"Um... I..." Stan nudged me in the ribs. "I mean, I'm right here, Bebe. What do you want?"

"A bit of privacy would be nice..." she said, glaring at Stan. He met her glare with one of his own and rested his feet on my lap. "Now, Stan!" she screeched.

"No, Bebe," he said, mimicking her high-pitched voice.

I punched Stan playfully in the shoulder. "Whatever you have to say, you can say it in front of him," I said, my brain screaming for her to leave. "Now, do you have something to say?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do," she said firmly. "I just wanted to tell you that I'm really sorry I got so angry with you yesterday. I failed my Physics test, and I guess I sorta took it out on you."

I shrugged. "Obviously."

"So, I wanted to make it up to you," she said a little too sweetly. "Maybe you could hang out at my place for awhile after school?"

"Or maybe not!" interrupted Stan sharply. "We've already got plans after school, Bebe."

Bebe rounded on Stan. "I was talking to Kyle, not _you_!" she snapped. "You're just jealous!"

"Bebe, he's right," I said finally, rubbing my temples. "We kinda _do_ have plans tonight."

Suddenly, she was all charm. "Oh, that's alright. You can come over any time."

Either Stan was a really good actor, or he was finally beginning to understand what a kink in the neck Bebe really was. "Look, Bebe, back the fuck off already!" he snapped.

"What's your problem?" she snapped, indignant.

"Oh, I dunno, maybe the fact that you're throwing yourself at _my_ boyfriend!" Bebe's mouth fell open, and the silence on the bus seemed even quieter than usual. But, hey, that's Stan for ya. He can never do anything quietly. It always has to be done with a bang.

"Wh-_what_?" whispered Bebe, eyes wide. "Kyle, you... you're... _gay?_"

"I knew it!" shouted someone from the back of the bus. "Oh my god, pay up, Craig!"

Craig swore viciously as he passed twenty dollars to Butters. "Goddamnit."

"You guys were betting on this?" I all but shrieked. "Traitors!"

Butters shrugged. "Well, you're bettin' on me 'n Eric!" I winced. Very true, very true.

"That has nothing to do with it!" I exclaimed.

"Waitaminute, waitaminute!" interrupted Craig as the bus stopped. "How do we know they aren't faking?" There were mutters of agreement as we all climbed off the bus. "Well?"

"Yeah!" agreed Bebe. "Stan's probably making this whole thing up because he thinks Kyle will be spending more time with me!" She rolled her eyes. "Seriously, grow up, Stan!"

Stan pinched the bridge of his nose, an obvious sign of annoyance that I've come to recognize over the years. "Why would I make this up?" he said. "If I was lying, wouldn't Kyle just deny it?"

All eyes turned to me. Thanks a lot, jackass. I blinked for a moment. "What?"

"Is. Stan. Making. This. Whole. Thing. Up?" hissed Bebe.

I didn't hesitate for even a second. "No. He's not. We're dating." Kenny and Cartman started laughing again, Butters punched the air in victory, a few girls ran off to share the latest gossip, Craig mumbled under his breath, and Clyde punched us both in the arm.

"Right on, you guys!" he said, grinning. "Oh, don't listen to Cartman. He sucks."

"And you're just now figuring that out?" I asked skeptically. Clyde shrugged.

Bebe, however, just grinned wickedly. "I still don't believe you, Kyle," she said simply. "I think you're just covering for Stan so he doesn't look like an idiot."

"You are so fucking dense, Bebe!" I groaned, smacking my hand over my eyes. "I'm dating Stan. There's nothing else to it!"

I knew she would say it. Those two damning words that would put an entirely different spin on this whole plan.

"Prove it."

Stan didn't hesitate. "Fine!" he exclaimed, suddenly pulling me into an expected, but somehow still unexpected, kiss. My eyes widened, not because my best friend was making out with me in front of everyone I knew (and some people I didn't), but because I was kissing back. Willingly.

Cartman really did piss himself laughing this time. "Gross!" exclaimed Wendy, moving away from him and wrinkling her nose. Stan suddenly froze.

"W-Wendy?" he stuttered.

"Hi, Stan," she said softly. "Well, I guess I was right." She sighed dramatically. "Bebe! Pay up!"

"What?!" Kyle and I exclaimed simultaneously.

She shrugged. "Ever since we were kids, you two have spent nearly every waking moment together. I had my suspicions." Bebe grumbled and passed Wendy a fifty. "Thanks, Bebe! Now I can get that purse I wanted."

The bell finally rang, but Stan just stood there as though he hadn't heard a thing. "Dude, you okay?" I asked.

"That was weird," he replied, shaking his head. "_She_ was betting on _us_. While I was _dating_ her."

"At least she didn't throw a hissy fit or anything," I said, shrugging. "You were right; this _was_ a good idea!"

Stan suddenly looked… well, disappointed. "Yeah, I guess so."

"What's wrong?" I asked, knowing full and well what was wrong, but deciding to play dumb anyways. "I thought you _wanted_ to get rid of her."

"Huh?" he said suddenly. "Oh, no, I… I mean, yeah, I did. I just didn't realize everyone else was betting on… well… _us_."

"Yeah, I suspect Cartman had a hand in that," I said, glaring in the general direction of the front doors. "Anyways, we're gonna be late for class."

"Oh, shit!" he swore suddenly. "Our Algebra quiz!" We hurried through the doors at breakneck speed, and finally stopped halfway down the hall, completely out of breath.

"Let's just walk the rest of the way," I suggested pathetically, to which Stan nodded in agreement.

"Hey, dude, I just thought of something," he said, trying to sound offhandedly worried. Key word here is 'trying'. There's a reason he isn't in theater, you know.

"Yeah? What's that?"

We're gonna be the juiciest piece of gossip in school for awhile, and everyone's gonna be watching us." He paused, searching for the right words. "Maybe we should… I dunno… keep the act up for awhile?"

I rolled my eyes. "Is this your pathetic attempt at asking me out, Stan?"

He spluttered in shock. "What… how… I didn't…"

"You're a bad actor, dude," I said monotonously. "I've got a pretty good idea of what's going on here."

"Okay, fine then!" he snapped. "Since you know all my questions, how bout you start giving them some answers?"

I blinked. "Wait, what?"

"Will you go out with me?"

Now, if you read the beginning, you have probably figured out by now how I ended up in the janitor's closet two seconds later. It was probably the best day of my life (so far), and the only two rainclouds were that we completely missed our Algebra quiz and Cartman couldn't be in the same building as us without saying some sentence that included the word 'fags'.

* * *

End note: Well, thank you all for reading! This is the end of the fic (I was going to make this a one-shot, but I felt I should continue...), but stay tuned to the South Park section of FF. net! You just might see a sequel! If you have any ideas for a sequel, please tell me, cuz I'm fresh out.


End file.
